Creamless Cream Desserts

From Home Notes, 25th May 1918.

CREAMLESS CREAMS.

Some dainty and inexpensive dishes to adorn the table when “he” comes home.

OF course, my khaki man isn't greedy, but when he was a little boy he had an unholy passion for the pretty dishes at parties, and he has never quite grown out of it.  So when the welcome wire arrived announcing four days' leave, I felt it would be too unkind not to provide some sort of treat; yet, on the other hand, rations are rations, and must in common decency be respected.  Finally, I bought one tin of unsweetened condensed milk, one large plain jelly-square, a few cooking apples and a lemon.  The store cupboard yielded up rice, a modicum of sugar, apricot jam, a small box of crystallised fruits, and a tin of raspberries in syrup.  With these ingredients I produced a succession of amazing delicacies at a truly nominal cost.

Apple Cream was the first item. As a foundation I stewed the apples with the rind of the lemon, thinly peeled, and rubbed them through a fine sieve. I then melted half the jelly in a little hot water, added three-quarters of the apple-pulp, and sugar to taste, and finally stirred in about one-third of the condensed milk. The whole mixture was set in a mould, and, when turned out, decorated with thin strips of the lemon rind and a few crystallised cherries.

Raspberry Delights formed the pièce-de-résistance the following evening.  For these half the remaining jelly was melted, mixed with some of the raspberry syrup and allowed to set in custard glasses —each glass about half-full.  The "left over" apple-cream was thinned down with a little more milk and heaped on the top,  a few whole raspberries forming the decoration.

Dream Rice was my next brain-wave.  I boiled the rice first in water as for curry but without salt. When cold I stirred in the rest of the milk and a large tablespoonful of apricot jam.  This mixture was arranged round a deep glass dish, with the raspberries and syrup in the centre.

Mongrel Memories was the rude title bestowed on my final effort by the khaki man, but judging by the way he polished them off he found them pleasant enough.

I boldly mixed the apple-pulp which I had saved with what was left of the rice, and coloured the whole a delicate pink.  This I piled in the centre of a dish, and surrounded it by the raspberry remnants pressed through a sieve, mingled with the last of the, jelly melted in hot water, and when nearly cold whisked to a froth.  The dish was lavishly adorned with crystallised fruit and looked quite entrancing.